


When the feeling takes hold

by solarfemm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animal Death, F/F, Forests, mentions of killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarfemm/pseuds/solarfemm
Summary: The one thing Billie knew was reaping, and the reaping was good.(A two-character study.)
Relationships: Amara/Billie (Supernatural: Form and Void)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14





	When the feeling takes hold

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BACK INTO THE SUPERNATURAL FOLD BABY
> 
> 20 fucking 20 am i right good lord i have no idea what i'm doing anymore but whomst among us does

The one thing Billie knew was reaping, and the reaping was good. 

Amara had plans, but the specifics of them were a mystery to anyone who wasn’t a primordial being of absolute destruction. Luckily, Billie was a primordial being of absolute destruction, and where Amara went Billie followed. A town of the undead rising in Egypt, gorging themselves on virgin flesh; a horde of ritual sacrifices in Milan, blood spilling across the Piazza del Duomo like the ocean spilled across its sand; children with knives turning against their parents in Sydney. It was a bloodbath across all corners of the world, and it kept Billie busy.

She didn’t revel in death the way some of the reapers did. Despite her calm, caring, sycophantic facade, Tessa had loved her job and would undercut other reapers to get it done. Especially when it came to the Winchesters—the perpetual thorn in Billie’s side since the eldest reaped Death. Wherever they went, destruction followed. They were Amara on a smaller scale, holding themselves up with duct tape and the feeble excuse of good intentions. Billie wasn’t programmed to care about her job, but she would savour reaping them, when the time came. 

Amara waited at the edge of the Parque Nacional de Garajonay, a peaceful expression on her face. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, as Billie stood beside her. “As loathe as I am to admit it, my brother did do a good job with nature.”

“I never had much of an eye for this kind of thing,” Billie admitted. She was all about death; life didn’t interest her much.

Amara turned to look at Billie, her expression pinched. “Oh, but even you can see the intricacy of the vines, the unique spines of the leaves, the way the roots curve and cut through the soil to expose themselves. Surely you can appreciate that.”

Billie took a moment to survey the area. It was true, the vines were intricate, the leaves unique, the roots exposing themselves. What else was there to see? 

“Listen to that.” Amara closed her eyes and tilted her head up as the sun cut through the canopy of the trees to illuminate her face. 

Billie listened. Birds twittered to each other, rustling leaves as they took to flight and zoomed through the forest. A nest of hornets in the laurel tree to their left buzzed, an incessant droning not unlike the sound that supernatural warding gave off when she was near it. Mammals skittered through the underbrush as though they were playing, not fearful but happy. An entire ecosystem to fend for itself. One day, Amara would destroy it, and Billie would happily snuff out its life. 

“Well, it certainly is something to look at.”

Amara laughed. “You reapers, no poetry.”

“You’re the Darkness,” Billie countered. “I’m surprised you can appreciate anything.”

Amara shrugged. She wasn’t offended. Maybe Billie didn’t even register to her, a being so lowly and disposable as a reaper. As soon as one reaper died, another was born, each replacing the last to make sure there were enough to go around. A reaper for each living being in the universe. 

A gavilan swooped through and plunged to the ground, spearing a mouse with its talons, rolling into the dirt as the mouse squealed and thrashed. The bird squeezed for several minutes. Billie bent down to touch it, and the mouse lay still, allowing the bird to rip into it with its beak, blood leaking in a puddle that sunk into the ground beneath them to nourish the tree roots. An ecosystem all of its own.

“I was the surveyor of God’s kingdom, once. What he created, it was my job to take away. I had to appreciate it before I could destroy it, otherwise what would be the point in creating it at all?”

Billie crossed her arms over her chest, a response she picked up from a soul she reaped back in ‘86. Gwenyth Jones was loud-mouthed lesbian from Des Moines who owned her own autobody shop and adopted eight runaway kids and 14 stray cats. They lived together with Gwenyth’s love Abir Shabazz in a 19th Century cottage that they refurbished themselves. Gwenyth would suck her teeth and cross her arms, and when Billie came for her she said, “But for the grace of God go I,” looking at her own body at the bottom of the basement stairs. 

“Maybe just for something to do. I’m sure even God gets bored. I know Death did.”

Amara shot Billie a glare. “Why are we talking about the men in our lives who did nothing but keep us prisoner?”

“What do you want to talk about?” 

Amara knelt down in the dirt, pushing her hands into it and spreading her fingers until it clumped on the backs of her wrists. “Life.”

“I’m not really in the business of life,” Billie said.

“Art, then.” Amara picked through the dirt with her nimble fingers, pulling up earthworms and slugs, placing each one in a different place beside her as though she didn’t want to hurt them. 

“I saw the Louvre, once.”

“What was that like?”

“Echoey. Cold. All museums seem to want to make their patrons as uncomfortable as possible.”

Amara smiled up at her. “So you can appreciate things.”

“Buildings, maybe. Road maps. Truck stops. Highways. Long stretches of road and time. Everything coming to a point, the point being the ocean or the sky, which are infinities.” Billie’s monotone bored even her. This is why she didn’t talk that much. In the Empty, she was a being with 800 sharp edges and a gaping, bottomless maw. Here, she was limited by the way other people wanted to see and hear her. 

The forest grew quiet and overheard a storm cloud gathered. The air sung with electricity and the smell of the earth’s anticipation of being quenched. 

Amara pulled her hands out of the dirt and lay back in it. “Lay down with me,” she implored. Her dress was dirty, too.

Billie had nothing better to do, so she acquiesced. They lay side by side as lightning crackled overheard. The heavens parted and a pouring of rain descended, soaking them within minutes. Amara put her hand over Billie’s and, distantly, Billie thought that maybe she could appreciate something after all.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter and tumblr at solarfemm! where i am having daily breakdowns about supernatural!


End file.
